SATURDAY
Eergh. There’s a word for someone who gets up at 6:40 in the morning, and it isn’t student. Thank God I did all my packing the night before, it was all I could do to throw myself in the bath (mental note- put hot water in first) and then into the taxi. The train was for seven forty. I bought the tickets (and a new railcard) the day before, which was a hell of a lot cheaper, but it wasn’t a direct train, so I’d have to change at Birmingham New Street.
The taxi came early, and set me back a fiver, but I caught my train and headed into the stopover station, a grim old hole indeedy. Finally, I caught another taxi (three quid) to the hotel Leofric. My room wasn’t ready yet, so I had to spend the whole day lugging my luggage around, plus all the things I bought.
Pretty nice, really. We had a whole floor, plus people staying over (like me) and there was another conference below us. Sadly, none of the other delegates wandered in. That could have been interesting. You could tell the other fans, we were all wearing entry badges and some of them were in the inevitable fan scarf. Mutter. There were a couple in green velvet coats, but sadly, they were all gimps. There was actually quite a good smattering of women, although, obviously it was mostly guys. The introduction was done by Gary Gillat (editor of DW Magazine) and Gary Russell. It took me a while to twig the name, and then I sat lower in my seat. Let’s hope he doesn’t read a) my badge and b) Outpost Gallifrey. It was very slickly presented, lots of interesting graphics and dull guests.
The video room showed things like ‘The Claws of Axos’ and other spellbinding works. First up was Peter Purves, I expected him to be as dull as hell, but he was actually all right. I also caught bits of Colin Baker and Andrew Cartmel, but mostly I was in the dealers’ room, buying goodies. The list I remember offhand is:
Here’s a tip for Panopticon: Take a lot of money. A hell of a lot. Anyway, I befriended a very nice schoolteacher named Andy, and we went to catch the tail end of Colin’s talk, but then there was talk of a surprise guest. A couple of people reckoned Tom Baker, but we in the back corner knew better than that (the people at the back corner always know better) and it turned out to be (drumroll please) Brian Blessed! And let me tell you, this is a man who whispers fortissimo. Even his confidential murmurs would have rattled a less sturdy building. Anyway, he invoked the quickest way of endearing himself to the audience, by outlining his reasons for wanting DW back. Fair enough, no dissenters there (unless Karen McCoy is involved, of course) and at least he got to utter whole sentences, because nobody had time to think of a question.
Well, what with one thing and another, we overran lunch rather, so after a quick wander around Coventry Andy and I ate at the hotel, which was doing special cheap lunches for us. He tricked me into letting him pay, which was sweet. After lunch I went autograph hunting, for Steven Cole (who commissioned new authors for BBC books and was therefore God) just so’s I could have his signature on something other than a rejection slip. They said it couldn’t be done, but I showed them, I showed them all- sorry, quick Zaroff moment there. I also got ‘Matrix’ signed by Mike Tucker, and the tapes signed by Lisa Bowerman, who’s playing Benny. Note sure about that casting, really, she’s a bit too posh, and if she does that tongue-clicking thing one more time on tape I’m going to…
Yeah. Then I went after the two biggies, Brian Blessed and Sylvester McCoy were signing in the same room. To get these I had to queue even up to the fifth floor, and the queue finished on the first. I got stuck next to this bloke and his son, about thirteen, who could do awesome things with his yo-yo. Mind you, it bloody well ought to be impressive at twenty quid. His Dad and I chatted for a bit, but even so I’m glad I’d just bought a book. The trouble was that Sylv was doing the links for the 35th Anniversary night on BBC Choice (buy digital! I might have been on there!) so everything was taking an age. In the end the stewards said that one day only people had priority. That was me, so I culled another two autographs.
Along the way I’d also befriended a guy named Phil and his little group, (who simply couldn’t believe I didn’t belong to a local DWAS group, leading to my next tip: it helps if you’re DWAS) so after that we all went down to one of the bars and proceeded to get slightly tipsy, while waiting for the dinner. I’d dug up my nice black dress (and dieted for a week so the bloody thing would zip up) and a semi see-through blouse over it. It transpired that nobody else was bothering to dress up. Lisa, one of Phil’s cronies, wasn’t even bothering to change out of what she was wearing. But I decided, what the hell, and got changed in my room. I was a little-overdressed, but Andy was looking quite nice, so that reassured me. While waiting for the doors to open we befriended a very pleasant Australian named Elizabeth, a world authority (I kid you not) on Tom Baker. She was over here for a few weeks.
Anyway, they’d messed up the table layouts, so it turned into a massive free-for-all. Elizabeth and I wound up on the table with John Nathan-Turner, just to prove there is no God. The food was okay, starting with melon in something alcoholic, followed by chicken and mushroom in something alcoholic, with a rumbaba as pudding, with is basically a doughnut filled with cream and floating in… well, something alcoholic. I was a bit worried, because there’d been some kiddies here, and what with every course being 90% proof, what were they going to do? On the other hand, one seven year old I’d seen had been wearing the scarf, so they probably deserved everything they got. I’d been talking to his Mum, she wasn’t a fan, which I thought was a subtle form of torture at best. Afterwards came the entertainment.
First, they started with the ‘Perfect Day’ video, albeit er, customised. This was followed by a live cabaret, but the less said about that the better. The only good bit was when J N-T got Lisa Bowerman in a saw-her-in-half box, saying this was his response to everyone who called ‘Survival’ ‘Revenge of the Care Bears’. Whoever thought of that has my eternal respect. Elizabeth and I had snuck to the front by this point, which was lucky because another guy on our table had browbeaten me into letting him buy me a Bacardi and Coke. When he got back, Indiana Jones would have balked at following in our wake, and he wasn’t even in this damn dress. Finally, we got to see ‘The Few Doctors’, a skit a bunch of people did for last year, that they were selling charity videos of this year. Glad I resisted, it was funny the first time, but if I actually owned it, I’d probably get quite bored of it. Favourite bit is where the first seven Doctors get utterly pasted, and decide to call in reinforcements. They’re not best pleased when it’s Peter Cushing.
Anyway, after that the sage was clear, complete with TARDIS prop and Dalek. Let me tell you now, two giggly and half-drunk girls, one with camera, will do things to a Dalek prop that would make Katy Manning blink. The photos have been promised soon...
After that we all fled down the to bar, again, more booze, more being ignored by J N-T, more being the only PMEB member there. It’s a bit of a pain when you’re the only one not slagging off the McGann movie. Now, if my fellow fangirls had been there, we could have partied. Sometime in the wee small hours I made my excuses and went to bed. Early train tomorrow.
Four a.m. I got a call.
"Urgh?"
"Hi, where’s Becky, she should be here. Is she ill?"
"Urm…"
"Oh, it’s okay, she’s just come in."
"Okay."
"Thanks then, bye.
"Righ’, bye."
Who the smeg is Becky?? So when the next call came, three hours later, I grunted at it and it shut up. Not a good idea to ignore your alarm calls. Figuring I had time, I eventually heaved myself up and into the bathroom, where I was disconcerted to find you couldn’t nick the soap. There were big squeezy bottles, mounted to the wall. For shame! I vengefully ate the little pack of digestives instead. By the time I was in fit state to hand in my key (just gone ten) I’d missed out on breakfast, which had been included in the price. At least they’d got my paper, though. I mean, it was Sunday, who the hell eats Sunday breakfast before ten? The next day’s activities (some said Peter Davison was there Sunday) had already started, and I was feeling a little left out as I went downstairs.
That’ll have to be my last tip: go for the whole weekend. I got back to Birmingham New Street no problem , but a quick check of the big board at the top told me the next train to Derby was at twenty past six. Panicking slightly at the thought of being left, impoverished in Birmingham, I went to the travel desk, only to be told there was one in half an hour. So I bought some Millie’s cookies and called them lunch (which may have caused an identity crisis, I’m not too up on cookie psychology) and finally caught my train home.
It was pretty good, all in all. If you book in advance, and get all the bits and pieces, it’s a good weekend away. It helps if you have some friends, but don’t worry if you go alone, you’ll soon find someone to talk to. What other group of people could tell you if it was a renegade or imperial Dalek splatted the Master in the telemovie?
I was supposed to have some photos to go here, but that's your lot. Sorry!
